


Trapped

by corporal_captain_nincompact



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Choices, F/M, Margaret Houlihan - Freeform, Moving On, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Trust Issues, being used, surviving trauma, womanhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corporal_captain_nincompact/pseuds/corporal_captain_nincompact
Summary: Margaret returns from a tryst gone wrong and tries to recover herself.





	Trapped

“Thank you, I can handle it on my own Sergeant.”

“Yes ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.” A salute. 

Saluting in return, “Goodnight Sergeant.”

Margaret Houlihan picks up her two suit cases and steps away from the jeep as it pulls out of camp. To her relief, there is no one in the compound to greet her. They wouldn’t be expecting her for at least half a day anyway. From the silence, she assumed everyone was in surgery. She would drop off her things, freshen up and then proceed to see if her assistance was required. It would be good to get back to work. 

She briskly walked the short distance to her tent looking every bit the poster child for the military establishment. She was Class A from the point of her slanted cap to the tips of her polished heels, though no one at the 4077 or anywhere else for that matter ever saw her as anything less. Her bun was immaculate, her skirt, blouse and jacket smartly pressed. There was only one catch… a snag really. Insignificant accept Margaret was acutely aware of it and wanted to fix it as quickly as she could. In the back of her new silk hose was a run. She could feel it warping and expanding with every step she took. It made her cringe. 

She opened the door to her quarters and turned on the light switch. Things appeared to be in the order she left them, but she knew it best to conduct a thorough inspection just to be safe. She pulled back her bed covers, checked underneath her cot, opened her small closet and looked inside her foot locker. It only takes one snake in one sleeping bag to realize it’s never something you want to experience again. Once she was confident no one was planning any “welcome back” sabotage, she set herself down on her bed, removed her shoes and rolled down her stockings. 

She ran the soft sheen of the silk across her hand and thumbed at the hole. “What a waste…” she sulked tossing them into the waste basket under her make-shift vanity. She had them for less than a day and like so many of the nice things she tried to acquire in her life, they couldn’t survive the callous siege of a man. 

Margaret was to be on the arm of General Clayton at the military medical convention in Tokyo. It was an honour to have been asked. The General wished to show off the head nurse of the most efficient unit under his command and highlight the part Major Houlihan had played in making that happened. It felt like the perfect opportunity to discuss her ideas for expanding the nurse’s duties in the OR, maybe one day triage. She knew her team was capable of so much more than they were given credit for and she wanted to make sure command knew it. She would be lying if she said she wouldn’t have minded if her ideas put her in line of a commendation or even down the line a promotion, but her main focus was the work. Being the best. Margaret Houlihan could accept no less. 

She stood up, removed her jacket and hung it up in her closet. She unpinned her cap and slowly let down her hair, unzipped her skirt and started to unbutton her blouse. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, a trail of purple and blue welts just above her clavicle. She cringes and turns away. It would be turtlenecks for the next week. Luckily there was a nip in the air and she could get away with it with little suspicion. As she unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves more purple appears. She sighs and drops the blouse into her laundry basket along with her skirt. Closing her eyes and taking a breath, she makes herself face her reflection. It’s not as bad as it seems. Not as bad as it felt. 

It started the same as every big brass party she’d been invited to since she was 18 years old. The decorum, the booze, the pomposity. Everyone wanted to bend General Clayton’s ear about one thing or another. If it wasn’t the next strategy for taking hill 103, it was their initiative to get a new supply chain through Inchon. It was unending but being next to the General meant that her thoughts and opinions mattered, or at least did until the General had his say. In the beginning, she found it exhilarating…

Once the crowd started to thin out, she was invited back to the General’s suite for a night cap. Margaret was flattered as usual. A few other high-ranking officers joined them and stayed until they were three sheets to the wind. The General’s hand spent the majority of that time on her knee, every once and a while a finger would slide beneath the hem of her skirt and try to tickle the back of her knee. That’s where his wedding ring caught and tore the stockings she’d bought earlier that day. While she was certain it caught the attention of the rest of the room, she was also certain that they’d all be too hung over to remember it in the morning. None of the underlings would dare breathe a word of it anyway.

The General insisted everyone start to make their way back to their rooms. Margaret had attempted to slip out as well but was caught by the arm and told to go freshen up. She knew what for but wondered why she needed to be fresh only to be slobbered on by the General when he so clearly was not. She didn’t argue. She never did. Houlihan’s always followed orders. 

Margaret allowed herself to be grabbed and groped and kissed all over. There were a few moments where if she closed her eyes tight enough she could almost enjoy herself but that would quickly be ruined by a rough pinch or a gimmicky line or a comment about her body. It was when she tried to abstain from intercourse when she was met with more roughness than she was used to. His hand tightened around her throat and he unzipped his pants with the other. She was a fighter but was caught off guard and torn between personal safety and career. She briefly wondered what her father would think if he saw his daughter like this. She’d like to think Howitzer Al Houlihan would come to her rescue, but she wasn’t sure father would make the right choice between punching the General’s lights out and saluting. For career and country, for the good of the outfit, for her nurses and for her safety, she submits. It wouldn’t last long anyway. It never did. 

She high tailed it out of there the moment the General had fallen into a post coital sleep. Margaret returned to her room and proceeded to delouse herself. She after two snorts of brandy she stood in the shower under the scalding hot water for the better part of an hour. She was meticulous in packing and putting herself together. As soon as she was ready she had a jeep called for her and asked to be brought back to the Tokyo airfield. She’d rather be back at home in the muck and the mire than in that cold city alone with General Clayton. She left a note at the front desk thanking the General for a pleasant time and stating there was an emergency back at camp. She hated herself for her sense of propriety. Houlihan’s had impeccable manners. 

Standing back from her mirror she took herself in. The hem on her slip was torn. She didn’t remember that happening but would set to fixing it right away. As she held it up she saw more bruises like finger prints dug into her thigh. Her breath catches but she holds it in and pushes it down deep. It would do her no good to dwell. Houlihan’s didn’t cry. Houlihan’s marched onward and clawed their way upwards. 

She was about to pull on her khakis when there’s a playful knock at the door. She knows the pattern all too well. 

“Just a minute!” she calls out frantically trying to find her baby blue robe and wrap it around herself. The knock sounds again and she’s about to say come in when the door opens on its own volition. 

“Look who’s back in town?” Pierce smiles as he pushes his way through the door, McIntyre on his heels. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon. You ruined the surprise…”

“Tickertape parade, fanfare, fireworks, the works!” McIntyre chimes in. 

“We were even going to bathe Radar for the occasion!”

Margaret turns away and casually glances at herself in the mirror making sure she’s as covered up as possible. “That’s very kind of you both but as you can see I’m not quite decent. I’ll be out in just a few minutes and then you can brief me on what’s happening in the OR.”

Hawkeye laughs. “Nothing’s happening in the OR…”

“It’s been dead for days if you’ll excuse the expression,” McIntyre adds. “Everyone is at the movie.”

“We’ve seen Bonzo go to college so many times we’re ready have him drafted and come take our place,” Pierce jibes. 

Trapper tries to hold in a chuckle, “He’s spent more time in medical school than Frank.”

“We saw the lights from the jeep and thought we’d come check it out. Everything go okay in Tokyo?” Pierce enquires flippantly. Nothing that happens in Tokyo without him is ever of interest. 

“Yes. Fine.” Margaret looks from man to man wishing they would just get to whatever brought them knocking on her door. 

Trapper creeps in close and mock whispers, “Did you hold up your end of the bargain?”

As if on cue, there it is. Margaret rolls her eyes. Of course, that’s why they were here. Payment. She crosses the tent to her suitcases and lays one of them on the cot. She opens it up and unravels two bottles of 10-year-old scotch from the clothes she had them packed around. “Here you go. You still owe me one more entire week of leaving Frank alone and I better not hear that you broke our agreement in my absence…”

Hawkeye looks hurt, “Who, us? We’ve been nothing but friendly with the fink. Even bought him popcorn at the movies.”

“Only sneezed in it the one time…” Hawkeye shakes his head and holds up two fingers and Trapper corrects himself, “Two times… Still not bad for us.”

“We told him a bedtime story to keep him from talking about you in his sleep…”

“Ya, now instead he talks about us…” Trapper pulls a face.

Hawkeye winces in turn. “Terrifying really, but worth it.”

Trapper cracks open one of the bottles and takes a long sniff before passing it to Hawkeye to do that same. He’s practically drooling. “Care to indulge us in a welcome back blast?”

“That’s very kind, but I think I’d actually like to turn in early…” Margaret attempts to usher them both towards to door but neither budge.

Trapper takes a look over his shoulder at Hawkeye who is giving him the same concerned gaze. “Is everything okay, Margaret?” 

“Everything’s fine…” she evades their gaze and giving up goes to sit at her vanity. 

“But you didn’t even go ask around to see if we behaved ourselves,” McIntyre observed. “That’s not like you.”

“I told you I’m tired.” She considers her comrades as she watches them from the reflection in her vanity mirror. A part of her wanted to trust them and tell them absolutely everything, even get one of them to check her out to make sure she was really okay. But the other part of her, the part of her consumed with pride and self-preservation knew that showing any weakness around this place meant being made a target. She would not put herself through any further indignities. Pierce and McIntyre were brilliant surgeons and good enough men when they wanted to be. There was something about them that she couldn’t quite crack. For all their antics and talk about nursing chasing, she never heard the nurses say anything negative about either of them. Yes, they were both huge flirts and would flout from nurse to nurse, but none of them ever complained about being used or mistreated. She briefly wondered if she’s spent her whole life barking up the wrong tree. Maybe she should be trying to find herself a handsome doctor instead of trying to work her way to the top of the army chain of command. 

McIntyre was a married man and openly unfaithful. She’d heard the stories of how the curly haired football player had trapped a cheerleader in the locker room showers and took her right then and there. There was also an incantation of the same story happening on a train. That would make Trapper no better than the General. However, Houlihan’s always did their own reconnaissance. Further intel uncovered the cheerleader to be Louise McIntyre and it was a bathroom at a frat party not a shower room or a train or a plane or a bus. But most importantly, it was mutual. If McIntyre had trapped her than Louise had indeed snared him when she showed up at the frat house a month later declaring she was pregnant. He’d been caged ever since. Dutiful enough. A devoted father and a seemingly good friend, if not husband. She’d always found him to be the most attractive man in camp. One of the few reasons she ever opened her tent flaps was to watch him throw the football around. 

She considered being trapped. Weren’t they all? Trapper by an empty marriage. Her to her family’s tradition of military service, custom and duty. Or was it her own ambitions that trapped her? None of this would have happened had she not gone to Tokyo with the intention of climbing the ranks. She would have punched Clayton in the teeth had she not been afraid of it destroying everything she’d worked so hard for. She considered Pierce and how this was the last place on earth he should ever be, demented and subversive as he was. Talent and skill were one thing but there would come a day when being trapped here would cause him to go off the rails and bring them all down with him. 

Margaret had let her thoughts wander for so long that she didn’t notice McIntyre approach her. As he rested his hand on her shoulder Margaret screamed and jumped out of her seat. “How dare you touch me? You… you…pervert!” Her voice drops, and she notices the doctors staring. In her overreaction, she uncovered the bruising along the base of her neck. Trapper reaches out to take a closer look, but she covers herself up. “No! I’m fine, now would you both please leave…”

“Margaret, what happened?” Hawkeye demands. 

“Nothing. I slipped in the shower.”

Trapper raises an eyebrow and grimaces, “Do you want to try that again?”

She shakes her head, “No, I would not, now please don’t make me ask again…”

“Margaret, we’re doctors,” Hawkeye insists, “Could we at least check and…”

“And I’m a nurse, and I know I’m fine…”

Hawkeye relents, lowers his eyes and moves towards the door. “Thank you.” He says holding up the bottles of scotch. She nods. Trapper urges Hawkeye to leave with a nudge and he does. Margaret stands their waiting for McIntyre to follow but he lingers for just a moment. 

“If you change your mind… about the drink… or anything…” 

“I know where to find you…”

Trapper nods. His hazel eyes hold her gaze. He watches as her bottom lip trembles. She’s a rock. He takes a step towards her and opens his arms to her. Hesitantly she steps towards him and allows him to gently pull her close. Her body is tense as she continues to hold herself together. He doesn’t want to out stay his welcome or cause her any further embarrassment. Trapper steps away. Taking one last look at her before he leaves the tent he says, “I’m really glad you made it back.”

She shakes her head in agreement, “Me too.”

…….

Outside the tent Hawkeye is waiting for Trapper. Neither of them says anything for a long time. Neither of them move from her doorstep either. When they do, it’s because they see Frank rushing over. 

“Hey guys, where’s the fire? I thought we had wounded.”

“False alarm, Frank,” Hawkeye says loud enough so that Margaret can be forewarned. 

Frank’s beady eyes dart back and forth between Hawkeye and Trapper, “Where’d you get the booze?”

“Margaret’s back,” Trapper leans in to Frank, “but she doesn’t look too well Frank. I think she may have picked up a bug in Tokyo. She said she’s going straight to bed.”

“Well, I should at least say goodnight. It would be rude of me not to…” Frank is persistent. The Captains just hope they gave Margaret enough time to hide what she wanted to hide. 

“Will do, Frank. See you back home.” Trapper says taking Hawkeye’s elbow and walking him out of the way of the door.  
Hawkeye lets out a loud sigh. Unspoken words pass between the two men as they walk farther away. Trapper lets out a small snort which makes Hawkeye’s perk up. “What?”

“Do we still have those snapshots of General Clayton?” 

Hawkeye laughs, “I think I took two whole rolls…”

“I think it’s time we mailed them to his wife.”

……….

That familiar rapping on the door again. “Come in Frank.” Margaret had managed to throw a turtleneck over her slip and re-tie her robe. 

“Welcome home my darling angel,” Frank wraps his arms around her and hugs her tight. She manages to relax herself more than she could with McIntyre and embraces him back. She tucks her head under his chin and breaths in the French cologne on his neck. Frank is familiar. Frank is safe. She doesn’t see him as her protector or a rung to climb to get to the next place. He was Frank. Her Frank. Well, almost. For the first time, it doesn’t really matter. She knows he’s not here to hurt her. “I’m so happy you’re home early. How was your trip?”

“Nothing special. Just a lot of brass stuffed into a small room. I’m much happier here with you.” 

They embrace for a while longer and Margaret thinks maybe this will all just fade away like the bruises on her body. When she pulls away and smiles up at Frank, he rests a hand on her forehead. “Pierce and McIntyre said you weren’t feeling very well. It doesn’t feel like you have a fever.”

“My throat is just a little scratchy and my head is sore. It’s probably just from the travel.”

“Are you cold?” he asks observing the sweater under her robe. She nods vigorously. Frank sits her down on the bed. “My poor dear. Let me make you some tea then I’ll let you get some rest.” 

Her heart aches at the gesture. He’s completely clueless and she couldn’t be more relieved. “Yes Frank, that would be lovely.” 

Frank turns on her hot plate before running off to fill her kettle with water. He blows her a kiss on his way out the door and she catches it in her palm. Frank could be such a sap. He would be absolutely devastated if he knew she betrayed him. The irony of which was not lost on her. Frank was trapped too. Cornered into a loveless relationship. Pressured into a career that if either of them were honest, he didn’t quite fit. Reaching for things he had no business reaching for and all for the approval of others. Margaret wants to think that he’d understand. She had to. There wasn’t any choice in the matter. If anything she’d been the one lied to and taken advantage of. But that wasn’t how Frank’s mind worked. She draws back her covers and crawls under them. The last thing she needed was an upset and sulking Frank. She could barely comfort herself. She knew she couldn’t handle having to comfort him too. 

Frank returns to the room and places the kettle on the hot plate. He sits on the edge of the bed tangling his fingers with Margaret’s as they wait. “Your hands are cold.” He picks one up and tenderly rubs in between both of his then does the same for the other. He smiles up at her and she forces a smile back. He always tries so hard. She wonders if this is what her efforts to grow and succeed and thrive look like to the rest of the world. Needy. Desperate. Sad. Margaret closes her eyes and chides herself for the self-depreciation. It’s not like her. It’s also not like her to be so ungrateful.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Frank is immediately across the room seeing to it. He doesn’t ask which kind of tea she wants as he knows she usually takes camomile when she is about to go to bed. He lets it steep for a few minutes before bringing the cup of tea to her bedside. 

“Thank you,” she practically whispers as he places the cup in her hands. 

“Anything for you, Margaret.” She almost believes him. She smiles and blows on the tea urging it to be safe to sip. “You know, if there was ever anything you needed to get off your chest… anything bothering you…anything at all… you always could come to me…" Both pairs of blue eyes meet, and Margaret feels her heart rate rise. She blinks once and then again as he stares at her expectantly. “It’s okay, you know. I know you tried your best. We’ve just got to keep pushing. We’ll both be Colonels one day. You’ll see.”

She sighs knowing her secret is safe, but it leaves a hollowness in her heart. She doesn’t want to see Frank as someone using her, but he is. He all but said it. Her eyes fall. She places the tea on her bedside table. She doesn’t want it anymore. “I’m tired, Frank.”

“Of course my darling. I’ll let you get some sleep and we can catch up tomorrow.” He rises from the cot but not before taking her hand and placing a kiss on it. As he does the sleeve of her robe falls back revealing a bruise. Margaret feels the bile rise in her throat. Frank thinks nothing of dropping a kiss on it and insisting that she be more careful. Tears sting her eyes as she nods in agreement. 

“Goodnight Margaret.” Frank shuts off the light before exiting the tent. Before he can get very far she changes her mind and calls out to him. His head pops back inside and she can’t help but think he does look a little bit like a weasel. “Margaret, people will hear you…”

“I don’t care, Frank.”

He slips back through the door. “Are you okay?”

She shakes her head. “No Frank.” He frowns and furrows his brow. “Could you please stay?”

“Of course, Margaret.” 

She pats next to where she is sitting up in bed. Frank clumsily kicks off his boots, crawls over her and lays down on his back so that she can curl up beside him. He surprises her with his silence and his restraint. His hands never go anywhere other than her back and occasionally his fingers trace the fine details of her hands. They don’t talk or do anything other than this. Margaret finds solace in Frank and she thinks that maybe it’s okay to use each other for some things some of the time. She thinks that maybe he does love her. And she knows that a part of her loves him too. She thinks she survived this trial. She would survive the next scum bag and the one after that. She knew they would just keep coming because that’s what it meant to be a woman in a man’s world. She would have to keep fighting. Houlihan’s always did. But tonight she didn’t have to do anything, and she was grateful that she found someone she could be trapped with.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very odd for me. I've never wanted to write a Margaret-centric fic until today. I think I needed an outlet to express some of the garbage I've been feeling in my own life. Just to be clear, no one one hurt me quite like this. I'm okay. I've just been realizing lately how hard it is to trust and to drop the facade of being high functioning and then having to deal with what people see when you let your true self shine through the cracks. I think... I don't know. I have feelings. LOL. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. I hope it doesn't trigger anyone. Please leave comments. I love getting them and replying to them. I'd love to know what you think especially as I've never really written Frank or Margaret like this before. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
